


Just a Little Insight

by ferix79



Series: New York and New Jersey [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Memorials, More hurt less comfort, Original Character(s), September 11 Attacks, State Tans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-11
Updated: 2011-09-11
Packaged: 2017-11-16 04:17:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferix79/pseuds/ferix79
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel to my fic "New York, Oh New York". Its the 10th anniversary of 9/11, and this is the end of New Jersey's story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Little Insight

**Author's Note:**

> [New Jersey's Design](http://darkwulfe.deviantart.com/art/New-Jersey-State-tan-Sheet-132296626)   
> 

New Jersey was lost in every sense of the word.   
  
He awoke that morning at god knew what time, and had stumbled out of bed in a rush to get ready for  _something_ , he couldn't really remember, because he knew he was late to whatever it was he was supposed to be at. Maybe a meeting?   
  
While combing his hair in front of a mirror in his bedroom, already dressed, the calendar on the wall behind him caught his eye.    
  
Oh. Right. It was September. September 10th.   
  
He stopped, his comb midway through his hair, and just stared for a moment. The calendar was backwards, since he was looking at it through the mirror, but he knew either way. He knew that the second Saturday on the calendar was circled, and in his small handwriting it said "Memorial dedication". Right.   
  
New Jersey would have stared some more at the calendar, mysteriously captivated by it, but that dedication was scheduled to start at noon, and it was now 11:08. He really needed to get going. Tossing the comb down on his dresser, he turned and yanked his suit jacket off of his bed and grabbed his wallet and keys, stuffing those in his pocket and pulling on his jacket as he rushed to his front door.   
  
Through some questionable driving maneuvers, New Jersey pulled into a parking lot nearby the memorial site, Liberty State Park, just five minutes before noon. One of the security guards spotted him as he approached the entrance and he was quickly ushered up to the front of the crowd, seated right in front of the stage.   
  
Only looking back on the event did he realize he was lost during it. The state couldn't remember a word that the governor or any of the family members had said, it took him a moment to figure out why everyone was standing around him before the national anthem played, and when the crowd burst out into cheers at the end of the ceremony he found himself numbly clapping along with them. Why was he like this? He could see through his eyes, but he seemed to have no control over his body; it was just on autopilot.   
  
The only time he considered himself to be fully awake was right before he entered the memorial. He had taken his suit jacket off—it was awfully warm—and was standing there gazing at the two tall slabs of concrete and steel in front of him when a voice startled him back to reality.   
  
"Sir, are you alright?"   
  
He looked over to find a woman standing next to him, her hand poised to tap him on the shoulder. A child—no more than ten—gripped onto her other hand, glancing in the direction of the memorial.   
  
"Uh…"he said dumbly, following the child's line of sight to the two walls, "I don't really know. Or, I can't tell." He didn't know where the words came from, or why he was talking to this woman, but somehow they just came out.   
  
"You just looked so lost. I'm sorry if I disrupted you from your thoughts, but I just wanted to make sure you were alright." She lowered her hand, giving him a soft smile, "You look so young to be here alone, you couldn't have been more than ten or eleven on that day, hm? Are you here because you lost someone?"   
  
The state was lost on what to say. Of course this woman thought that he would have been young—he didn't  _look_  more than 21, currently. In truth, though, he wasn't even sure if his appearance had changed at all over the past decade. Perhaps his hair had gotten a bit shorter, or longer; he couldn't even remember the length it was ten years ago.   
  
"Yeah…I mean, yes, I was younger when it happened. And I…didn't really lose anyone, no," Those words couldn't have been farther from the truth, "But my older brother…he didn't die, but he was very, very injured. He kind of…went into shock after it. It took a long time for him to return to normal."  
  
The woman nodded. "Well, atleast he did survive, not to belittle his injuries or trauma, though. You're very lucky to still have him."  
  
 _She's so right_. "Yes," he said, sniffling as he wiped the first tear off his cheek, "that was a blessing."   
  
A few moments of silence passed between them, the woman giving New Jersey a moment to collect himself while she gazed out over the water. The little boy at her side tugged on her hand.  
  
"Mama," he began, looking up at her, "can we go see daddy's name now?" She smiled, sad and reassuring, and then nodded.   
  
"Yes, we should go do that," She looked back to New Jersey, "Would you like to come with us...?" She left the question open ended, realizing that she didn't know the young man's name.   
  
"Sean," and answered, "And sure, that would be nice."   
  
"Great. I'm Sasha, and this is Michael," she motioned to her son. He looked down at the little boy, and the boy gazed right back up at him—his bright blue eyes boring that name into New Jersey's mind.   
  
Together, they walked down the path between the two slabs, passing dozens and dozens of names of the many fallen New Jerseyans. The woman didn't stop until they were nearly at the end of the memorial, and New Jersey almost bumped into her, having lost himself again amid the walls and names. He realized, though, that she and her son were studying the left wall.   
  
"Mama, here he is!" The boy suddenly cried out, crouching down and running his hands over one of the engravings. Sasha walked over and read the name, nodding.   
  
"Yep. That's him." She crouched down next to her son, reaching into her purse for something. New Jersey watched as she pulled out a long piece of white paper and a green crayon with the wrapping peeled off. She handed the crayon to her son, who eagerly took it, and then looked up to the state.   
  
"Sean, do you think you could hold the other end of this paper up?" She asked, motioning to one corner of the paper that was now pressed against the steel wall. Numbly, he nodded, and kneeled down next to the two. Balancing on his knees, Michael pressed the crayon flat against the paper and began rubbing, catching the first letter of his father's name on the paper in a brilliant green.   
  
"It's his favorite color, green," Sasha spoke over her son's head, addressing the state, "Originally, I wanted to do it in grey or black, but Michael insisted," she chuckled as more letters began to appear on the paper. New Jersey hummed.   
  
"I'm sure it will look very nice in color." New Jersey suddenly realized that he had never asked the woman about the person she lost—her husband, he supposed. "Is this your husband that you lost?"  
  
She nodded. "Yes, and we had only been married about two and a half years…"she remarked, sounding distant. The state was surprised she hadn't began crying yet. "Michael was only three months old when it happened, so he never really knew his father. Still loves him, though, regardless." The thought brought another sad smile to the woman's face.   
  
"Did he work in the towers or…?"  
  
"Yeah, the 83rd floor of the South Tower. He was…probably about dead center of the impact zone. That gives me hope, at least, that it was quick and somewhat painless. As painless as that day could have been, I guess." She paused for a moment, "He didn't have to think about jumping out of a hundred story building, and he didn't spend the last hours of his life in horror and fear, and that gives me comfort." Finally, a tear leaked out of her eye, followed by another. Her son continued to color, the first name of his father appearing on the paper—Harry.   
  
New Jersey nodded in agreement. He recalled the nightmares his brother described to him, and he could never decide which was the worst or best way to go. There was no answer, he supposed.   
  
"They never found any remains, though," she sighed heavily, "But I guess that was to be expected. It's been hard, because of that, but time heals, if only slowly."   
  
New Jersey nodded, and neither said another word as Michael continued to color in the name. After another minute the white paper was filled with brilliant green and the crayon almost completely worn down. They both released the edges of the paper and Michael took hold of it, spreading it out, and held it up to the sun, admiring his work.   
  
As the two adults stood, New Jersey felt an odd feeling crawling up his spine.   
  
"Well it was, uh, nice meeting you," he nodded towards Sasha, and she smiled at him, "And I'm-I'm sorry for your l-loss." Someone else was controlling him again, because his voice grew weaker and he hastily turned and disappeared into the crowd, not even leaving the woman and her son time to say goodbye to him.   
  
\-----------------------  
  
When New Jersey finally got through the thick crowd, he ran. He stopped by his car momentarily to chuck his suit jacket and tie in the passenger's seat, but afterwards he only continued running—away from the memorial and deeper into the park.   
  
Eventually, due to how warm the day was, he stopped running, but continued to walk briskly, his fists clenched into tight balls by his sides. He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, he wanted to—  
  
He was just so  _frustrated_. Why? New York, New York, New York. It was all about New York. The city, the state, the person—it didn't matter. It was always and all about New York. And he loved his brother, he really did, but  _it_  was happening again. He was in his brother's shadow again, like always.   
  
New York lost the most citizens in the attacks, and of course he lost several buildings—including the two iconic Twin Towers. He understood that his brother lost more than anyone, and that the other state had sustained the worst injuries out of everyone, but that didn't make him more important than anyone else. New Jersey lost people—many, many people, the second largest amount—but did anyone reach out to him in the way that they reached out to New York? No, of course not. New York got the money, and New York got the volunteers, and New York got the sympathy, and New York got the  _love_.   
  
Where was his family for him?   
  
But he felt absolutely horrible and guilty for every thought that ran through his head. That day was so tragic, and his brother could have lost much more than he did, but just because New Jersey lost less didn't mean that he didn't hurt, too.   
  
But the country had decided. New York was more important, New Jersey was just one of the many casualties. In his brother's shadow for everything. Again. Like always.   
  
He kept walking and walking and walking, and somewhere around 5:30 his stomach was growling angrily at him. He stopped at a small diner and ordered some sandwich and a coke, and ate with thoughts still racing through his head. As he walked back through the large park the sun was setting, and by the time he returned to the memorial all the families and visitors were long gone. His car was the only one that remained in the parking lot nearby.    
  
The sun was reflecting brilliantly off the steel walls of the memorial, but New Jersey didn't walk through them again. Instead, he walked around them, up to the water, and leaned his forearms against the rail, gazing across the water to the New York skyline.   
  
New Jersey had no idea how long he stayed there, just looking, but before he knew it the sky was getting darker and darker, and a flash of light across the bay caught his eye.   
  
One lone, bluish beam streaked through the sky, and then another one joined it, and then another. Soon another few beams shot up a little ways away from the first clump, and in less than a minute they were all lit up.   
  
"The Tribute in Light…" New Jersey whispered to himself, letting out a hoarse chuckle. Of course. Tomorrow was the 10th anniversary of September 11th, and it was the last time the Tribute in Light would run. Every passing minute turned the sky darker, and when the state looked up again, the blue lights could be seen rising up through the night sky for what seemed like miles.   
  
New Jersey gave one last look at the ghostly towers, lowered his head into his hands, and cried. After ten years, ten years of running and thinking his loss insignificant to his brother's, New Jersey cried.

**Author's Note:**

> The dedication of NJ's memorial was Saturday, not Sunday, probably to allow the families from NJ to go to both ceremonies. New Jersey himself, however, probably didn't want to go after his rough day. So yes the first story takes place after the second.
> 
> Just as a disclaimer, the humans in the story weren't based off anyone real. The little boy, Michael, was only there to remind New Jersey of his brother.


End file.
